Stolen in Florence

She blinked against the harsh spotlight, her wrists chafing where the ropes bit into her skin. The stage was blindingly white, the shadows of dozens of men flickering like predators around her. Her heart hammered so loudly she was sure they could hear it.

"Three billion," a voice cut through the thick, tense silence.

Her head snapped up. A hand, steady and deliberate, had risen from the darkness. The auctioneer's gavel came down with a sickening finality.

"Sold."

The world tilted. Her stomach dropped. She was no longer just a girl on a stage-she was someone else's possession. And the cold certainty in that voice promised that escape was no longer just improbable... it was impossible.